


Falling in Pieces

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunk Cas, Gen, Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything was washed in gray, the stark lines of black and white bleeding into one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling in Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Set in season 5 ep 19 ish, 99 problems, where Cas goes on a bender

The night was cold and quiet, the sort of night where scattered clouds lazily crossed the sky obscuring the moon hanging heavy and full then moving on, shadows cast shifting over the ground, bright stars struggling to shine through light pollution. Breath puffed visible in the air, the footsteps of one lone figure smacking loud and erratic against the paved path winding through an empty park. 

Castiel staggered to a nearby bench and fell heavily on the uncomfortable seat, tilting to the side before pushing himself back up with one free hand, the other busy keeping a good grip on the important bottle of liquor cradled against his chest. He should not be drunk. Angel's metabolized nutritive substance too quickly to be affected by physical ailments such as intoxication. But he was severely, stupendously intoxicated. There was only one reason, which he had up to this point been studiously avoiding assessing too carefully, that would allow him to feel such effects.

Castiel, angel of the lord, was falling in pieces. 

Though it was more common for angels to fall in a swift release, a decision made and committed to, it was not always the case. Castiel had pitied the angels that chose to fall over the eons, few and far between they were, for he did not comprehend what could be more wondrous than the gift of grace. 

He had never seen an angel fall, only heard stories whispered through the grape vine, felt the twinge of loss as a brother blinked out. Angels that fell relinquished their wings and plummeted to earth to be reborn in a new vessel. But it would seem an angel with a vessel could lose their grace slowly, if they struggled, striving to hold on against the inexorable pull once doubt sprouted. Castiel was learning this.

He still possessed his grace, however he could tell it was wavering, like static flickering and jumbling the message until the wavelengths are adjusted. As much as he did not want to think about it - there were far more pressing matters to be considered - Castiel found he couldn't stop thinking about it in his current state. 

It was curious, he had the impression from Dean's habits that drinking was something to distract oneself and take your mind off what was troubling you the most. Yet as the world shifted around him without his permission, his mind kept looping back and back and back to a thorn he felt pricking in his chest and had been unable to locate in order to remove it. Tipping the bottle of liquor clutched in his grasp back against his lips and allowing himself to feel the unpleasant burn down his throat that settled sour in his stomach, Castiel squeezed his eyes shut from the world and hunched forward over his knees. 

It was a most damnable, insidious, painful thing burrowed into his soul that grew like vines to wrap around his thought and choke him off. Doubt. Doubt was dangerous, doubt was blasphemous. He had held no doubt as a foot soldier in heaven's war that he fought for a father who loved all alike, his angelic children, his human children, every facet of his glorious creation for all the wonder it held must be so loved and cherished by his father. Castiel believed this, held it close to his heart with unwavering faith for the eons of his existence. 

Yet how could he not doubt now. 

Where was a father's love who would leave his children to their own devices in the midst of a crisis. What faith did he owe when the words he cherished as taken from his father's mouth were but fabrications of his brother's born of arrogance and wrath. Castiel would not believe the word of another anymore, he had no belief but for the word of his father and he could not hear for his father was silent. What then could he believe in, himself?

Castiel had made enemies of his brother's already for daring to question. They were justified to be wary of his questions, for questions had led to doubt and his doubt would be his downfall. Without the strength of unwavering faith his grace was slowly ebbing already. How many years would it take, how much doubt, for his grace to slough away completely and leave him bereft of divinity. 

He was afraid, but more than that, he was furious. 

Like nothing he had been afraid of before, he was afraid to lose that part of himself. Wavering on the cusp of a dark chasm he did not want to leap, nor did he want to turn back, but unsteady ground would shift beneath him eventually and toss him one way or another; he knew what his choice would be, but he clung to the power of his grace, unwilling to reshape an identity that had held so steadfast for centuries.

Doubt twisted through him in all directions, tainting memories that were held again in a new light and cast into questioning, making his current course of action murky, uncertain where to step or when or why, doubting the result of any choices and fearing consequences. Everything was washed in gray, the stark lines of black and white bleeding into one another.

It was the worst sort of betrayal, a raw open wound he knew would fester. His father was never coming back. Beyond that, he had left without sparing a single word. Not one word. In answering his question of where his father was - no where anyone will ever find him - he was left with mountains more question and no will to climb them. ‘Why’ was the most prevalent, why had he left, why wouldn't he explain himself, why did he leave his children without direction or guidance to squabble and fight amongst themselves for power they had no right to but was left open and shining, a bauble to attract magpies; someone had to guide heaven or the factions would split wide rifts that would rock existence, metaphysical and physical. 

God's actions were completely irresponsible and Castiel doubted he could ever understand, much less forgive.

Clouds passed over the moon, it’s silver light seeping through weakly and ringed by a corona, the quiet of the night shattered by the crash of breaking glass against the concrete as an empty bottle was hurled from shaking hands. Castiel grit his teeth and gripped the edge of the bench, willing the world to make sense. Reeling he pushed off the bench, knowing he had a few acquaintances that might offer some advice regarding absent fathers.

Castiel went to find the Winchesters.


End file.
